thank you for coming



something is different

it isn't a particularly subtle difference,

it feels cold, intentional.

it doesn't hurt, it's understandable,

one must protect themselves.

time for the little anemone

to pull back, retreat to a safer place,

close the door to our apartment

and have a little quality time, 

a little alone time. maybe 

we've been a little too quick

to share our happiness. a litte too 

anxious to please. perhaps

it's time to put on some music,

focus on the tasks at hand.




no. this is what I said

i  wouldn't do, this is the lesson

i was supposed to have learned.

this was the promise i gave,

when the blackness comes,

turn it away, turn to the light,

turn the negative into positive.

i can do it . . .




the last letter read:


Dear Terri,


Without delving into every conceivable nuance and ramification, which I am learning is counter-productive and the cause of my angst, and everyone’s around me, I’ll tell you that I’m on my own. 


We’ve spent the summer writing, the long pauses have left me limp. We live within in a bus ride from each other. What would you say to a phone number, a cup of coffee, a drink? 


I won’t be crushed if you say no. Not much anyway.







yes. one has to protect themselves.

i had to protect myself, my story

had spun out of control. i put

an end to it, when in fact it was only

beginning. give up on terri. not hardly.

let her go. let each other go. never

see her again. not hardly. i wanted

to put an end to the story-telling.

maybe it was becasuse i was writing

about what happened, instead of 

what is happening. what happened

was pretty sweet, worth telling, if only

for myself. but that wasn't the end.




my iphone is on the dock:


Sure is mellow grazin' in the grass,

grazin' in the grass, yes, baby, can you dig it?




i wonder how far back to go




the last i remember, as best

as i can remember, we were sitting 

on the bed, studying. the game

was over. everyone left. 




further back




how to untangle the story




sometimes you want to let go

of something good, that

feels good, because you know

that something bad will follow.

it always has. but you hang on,

maybe too long, maybe not, 

becasuse it feels good, but maybe

there's more to it, maybe it's right.




maybe i'm being too subtle




it was so easy to say i never

spoke to her, or saw her, again.




i was hurt




it hurt to think about

the months, that summer apart.

i had said so much already,

it seemed better, easier, to

make it go away. i never

spoke to her, or saw her, again.

true only in the sense

that the summer was spent

in intense misery, a sickening

misery. why would i want

to write of that? but it wasn't

the end, and we did speak again

and we did see each other again.

because . . . i had changed.

what i said, and wrote, was true.

it had been a revelation, and 

we worked it out, to put it simply,

and jack was jack, and we

let it go, that's what people

have to do sometimes. i think

you understand. sometimes 

you give up and go on, sometimes

you relent, sometimes 

your motivations are questionable,

but sometimes it's right, and

then you let it be, and enjoy it.

fuck it. enjoy the moment. but

this wasn't the case. it's always

hard to pick up the pieces. There's

always the accompanying baggage.

and maybe it isn't the same, 

no, it isn't the same. but, if you 

can see it for what it is, instead of

jumping to conclusions, and making

more of it than it is or was, which

is exactly what i did, then you can see

the why of it, and the depth of it,

and maybe, if you care enough,

you see it through. we saw it through.




we meet for coffee




even though it was only a summer, my memory has failed me. she comes through the door . . . i have no brakes, none. my heart, it soars or leaps or whatever it does when it feels pure—beyond words, joy, and it's in her eyes, her beautiful, unfailingly beautiful, honest eyes. not so much all is forgiven, but, what were we thinking, and how did this happen, and we don't have to dissect it, it's just plain love, the uncertainty is gone, it's a realization, or an acceptance, a moment when you know, it's the body language, the facial expressions, the flush, so many things combine. you just know. 




but it's a little complicated




in the sense that summer brought

changes. we had lives, people, places




logistically there were things to work out




forget that . . . 




it's so great to see her, and i get up and give her a hug, not exacty tentatively, but cautious. no need. she's there. terri, incapable being anything but honest. we talk and catch up. she seems to have quit smoking, because talk and coffee always meant legs crossed, a cigarette in hand, that little head back tilt of her head to clear the smoke. i'm glad she quit, or seems to have quit, but it's unfamiliar. i wonder what else is unfamiliar. i want to find out. i don't want to jump right back into babycakes, it's too soon and it assumes to much, but i want to say i love you, babycakes, and i will love you forever and ever, and i want her to say i love you, babydoll, and i will love you forever and ever, but i don't and she doesn't. but i do and i think she does, becasue here we are. 


but i don't know. 





Short story by one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 150 times
Written on 2022-04-10 at 06:09

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Alan J Ripley The PoetBay support member heart!
Hi one trick pony, me being dyslexic didn't think I would be able to read this story the whole way through, but it held my attention and I thoroughly enjoyed it. thanks for posting
Regards Alan.

Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
There is only one word that I want to say about this: Brilliant!
(It deserves more.)